


Orange like the sunset

by Thebanditking



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebanditking/pseuds/Thebanditking
Summary: peeta mellark is reaped in the hunger games.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Kudos: 7





	Orange like the sunset

Chapter 1:

**The day of the reaping**

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, as I feel the harsh touch of my mom’s fingers.

“C'mon Peeta, time to get up.” I can hear the cold edge in her voice. I watch her twiddle with her ring as she leaves my room. I pull myself out of my bed and head for the pile of folded clothes in the corner.

I touch the buttons on the light blue shirt, I think of all the other kids nervous about today. Today two kids of district twelve will never see their home again. As a young child I remember my older brothers participating in the reapings, while I watched with my mother. On those days as a young child I never understood the reapings, the hunger games, and even the victory parades. I guess I never understood it because my family would never watch. After each reaping day we would go home and act as if everything was fine, and the two kids sentenced to death didn't matter, and because we lived in district twelve they didn't.

I put on the blue shirt and button it up, then the black pants, then I slip on my shoes and head down the hall to the kitchen. As a family we've never had much, at least compared to the lavish life the people of the capitol have lead, but when it comes to district twelve, I've lived with more things than most. I've never had the pains of dealing with an unfed stomach, and somehow we've always managed to stay warm during the harsh winters. As a child of parents who own a bakery we’ve never had to live with the defeat of district twelve, well not all of it. I've always lived in the town part of district twelve and not the seam where starved children and people who have led an unfortunate life live.

I grab a small breakfast roll and head to the living room and eat the bread. Today one of my brothers won't have to go to the reapings, he’s lived his years of reapings, but me and my older brother have to go. My older brother is 18 and never worries about the reaping. As the children of bakers the number of times we are put into the reaping bowl is high. The tessera which are given if you put your name in extra is grain and extra oil, which my family uses to bake.

At 1 o'clock we head for the town square. We gather in lines at the tables. One by one the line goes down as kids sign in. As I move to the front I feel my hands start to shake.

“Name?” A peacekeeper with buzzed white hair and deep bags under his eyes mumbles.

“M-mellark, Peeta 16 years old.” I say as I try to sound put together. By the time I finish my name the peacekeeper pricks my finger. I bite down on the inside of my mouth, I hate the finger pricks. I look around and head to where all the boys stand. I remember my first reaping and being so incredibly worried about what to do, my brother told me my face had gone white. I've never been able to get if of my fear of the games, just hide it. Now I know to line up by age and gender.

I watch as everyone starts to fill the space. I look around for any familiar faces I know, not one. I watch as it becomes more and more cramped as the overflow of people goes out into the streets. I look to see people coming late and then directed to the streets beside the square to watch it televised. I look up to the rooftops where cameramen have set up cameras to record the reaping, where the recording will be sent off to the capital to be enjoyed on television.

On the stage the big glass balls sit perched with tiny slips of paper, with just one to be picked. Somehow this year the number of paper slips seem to be bigger, And 30 of those slips have my name written on them. To the right of the balls are two chairs filled with the mayor, mayor undersee, a big man who has been mayor almost 25 years. Next to the mayor sits Effie Trinket, a woman that sits with her pure white legs crossed and her deep pink hair in a big puff. Her face is a stark color compared to everyone else in the district. The bright lime green of her dress looks out of place compared to the dinged look of district twelve. Her lips are held pursed firmly in place watching everyone slowly make their way into the square.

Effie gets up and walks with a forcefully graceful walk that could only be from the capitol. She plastered on a fake smile trying to hide the disgust she has of district twelve.

“Happy Hunger Games!” she says her voice ringing out. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” she says announcing the phrase just like every other year. Her hands find her vivid dress and wipes down, her magenta hair starts to slip down her forehead with every hand motion she does.

“Ladies first” she says pushing her pointing finger out and making sure her capitol accent is shown. “ Primrose Everdeen.” She announces, somehow I feel like I know her name. Out from the crowd comes a girl who I can only assume is Primrose Everdeen. From behind the girls shirt is untucked and her whitish blond hair looks similar to mine. Her sky blue eyes are just like mine and the girl almost looks like she could be my sister. The girl’s hair is put into two tight braids, and the tiny girl seems only to just have come into her first reaping. I notice how small she is , and how frail she looks like she's just about to faint.

“Prim!” A girl my age yells, I catch a glimpse up and look to see her sister, and it all clicks, Katniss Everdeen. Ever since a young age I loved to look at her. Her beauty came from the natural bounce in her step and the way her braided hair seemed to flow down her shoulders just like the rivers outside district twelve. I always liked the small details that made her different, like the way her eyes are a gray that no one can describe, or the way nothing seemed to touch her. So nothing prepared me for the shattering of a dream I was never going to live.

“I volunteer,” she says her voice cracking in the middle. “I volunteer as tribute.” She said steadying her voice and walking to the stage with almost a stomp to her stride. I can see her trying to piece back together herself.

“Lovely!” Effie says as sickly sweet as only someone from the capitol could manage. Then as soon as her name was pulled from the bowl Primrose was pulled out, to whom I can only assume is her mom.

“What’s your name?” Effie asked with the same artificial voice, as she pulls Katniss on the stage.

“Katniss Everdeen” she says managing to make her voice flat with no emotion. In the middle of the crowd I see a man points his three fingers in the air. The whistle of the salute echoes through the crowd while more people start to raise their fingers. Haymitch the only victor from district twelve starts get up and while doing, so he knocks into Effie and Katniss and then somehow plummets off of the stage. I watch the scene unfold, but while everyone else is looking at Haymitch, I look up to Katniss and I can see her trying to compose herself as quickly as she can. Haymitch starts to leave off the stretcher and the reaping is continued.

“Now to our boy tribute,” she says making sure to make her voice as high-pitched as possible. Effie’s gloved hand reaches in and grabs one of the slips of paper right at the top, and clears her throat. “Peeta Mellark.”

My stomach drops to the floor. I almost fall backward at the sound of my name. I look around and hope maybe there might be two volunteers today. Pound, pound, pound, but no one, not even my family seems to care. I try weighing options of trying to run away or face the bloody battle that I know in only a few weeks time that will ultimately take my life and 22 others. I start by moving leg by leg, right-left right-left. I feel my teeth start to pull the inside of my mouth, and I bite down. I try to keep my face as emotionless as I can pulling my face into a contorted line that is as foreign as Effie is to district twelve. I look up to see vision spots that cloud my eyes, I try to blink them away but the spots cloud my vision. I can feel the red burn of my face that radiates out. I feel myself being pulled to the stage, but all I want to do is cry. I can feel my legs shaking and the ear-splitting noise of the static keeps getting louder and louder, until it crashes over me like a wave. Until I get to the stage and look over to Katniss. I remember.

The first time I had ever interacted with Katniss was a rainy day like no other. All day the rain had been pounding relentlessly through the district. That day I was in the bakery helping my mom bake the raisin and nut filled bread. On days like this when the rain poured down unrelenting many customers came in for the just baked bread, that helped chase away the starvation for many people in the district. I remember looking out at about mid-noon and seeing the small girl with the two braids in her hair. The girl with the braids had been in my year, but I had never talked with her. The girl looked frail and where now her cheeks are full they were hollow. Her soaked through jacket had been pulling where the frigid water dripped down, and devastation was written across her face. I watched behind my mom as she screamed at her for going through the trash cans. I remember thinking she was so skinny, and she must be hungry. I looked into the radiating heat coming from the ovens, that I had known all my life. I knew my mom would be livid if I had burnt the bread, but if I burnt it I could give it to her. So I burnt the bread. I pushed the two loaves that were almost done into the back of the oven and the bread started to pop and crackle. As I started to hear the crackle my mom stomped in. She pulled the burnt bread out and placed it on the table. She furiously grabbed the bread paddle out of my hands and flipped it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the paddle coming but it was too late, the paddle landed right in my eye. She screamed at me to feed the burnt bread to the pigs. I remember thinking that I had to give at least one of the loaves to the pigs. So I did. I started breaking off chunks of the still hot bread. I looked back to see if my mom was watching me and tossed the bread to her. Ever since then I guess I liked looking at her.

I start to feel myself being pulled out of the memory fog, I’m told by Effie to shake hands with Katniss. I look over and square my shoulders and look her straight in the eye and shake her hand. I can feel myself going red and I watch her hands. Katniss’s hands are hot and remind me of the oven back in the bakery. I look up, there is no way I’m going to survive, I think. I do know one thing. I will protect Katniss Everdeen, the girl who set my heart ablaze.


End file.
